The Last of Us 2
by Obliviatroopa
Summary: Interfering with the Fireflies would always have it's consequences and Joel knew that. He should have never have gone back to Tommy's. He shouldn't have done a lot of things. But he knew saving Ellie wasn't one of them. Perhaps Joel and Ellie would never be safe again. Perhaps they'll find her again. 'Endure and Survive' they said. Survival seemed impossible. (A/N - my first piece)


August 2036 - 23 years after outbreak

The sun had never seemed so intense on the run-down city of Boston. Its knife-sharp rays cut through the city's skyline, reflecting off the towering skyscrapers, captivating the area's hypnotising beauty. The need to escape the city was evident all over, from the abandoned pickups, with their gas tanks emptied, to the ransacked stores littered amongst the sidewalk, entrails of useless supplies spewing out from the doorways that swung on their last remaining hinges. Remnants of the city's makeshift hospital tents and quarantine zones remained from when Boston was still a safe zone, but that was long ago. The city was empty, isolated and silent. The roads were cracked like parched lips, running far out into the distance, never ending. The wind whistled a beautiful song, soaring through the air like an eagle, weaving in and out of the mountainous towers and through the broken window panes that still held on to shards of ice-like glass. To the naked eye, most would believe that the city to had fallen to its inevitable peril, beyond any repair, but to 15 year old Ellie, nothing had ever looked quite so breathtaking. Ropes of ivy climbed and slithered up the bricks of every building in sight and engulfed them in a cocoon of green. The city was untouched since it's perish, every sign of struggle for survival was evident, yet the view was so picturesque to Ellie, she dare not tear her eyes away. The trees were the brightest shade of green with the colours of summer and the sky a dark and mystical orange foreshadowing the upcoming night. The summer had been gruelling and harsh, hitting chances of survival harder than a hammer to its nail. Meeting other survivors seemed to grow significantly less likely. The sun was a burning inferno, hammering wave after wave of heat down on the earth in a storm surge. Anyone left would only have a matter of days at this rate, luckily for Ellie, she had just passed Boston's mystic lake.

It was here that Ellie discovered the first sign of clean water in days. Rivulets of water ran to the lower mystic lake, in the north-western suburbs of the city. The mere sight of the liquid had never felt so reliving for Ellie as she gave a long overdue sigh. For days the dry, dusty air had caused her lungs to choke and suffocate in resistance. Her throat felt raw, as if someone had raked their nails up and down her windpipe.

The wind had now picked up and cooled the air as the night grew closer; it sifted through the leaves and trees, and picked up the blood red crimson hair that was stuck to the beads of sweat on Ellie's head. Even now, now that she was standing on the coast of the mystic lake, lapping up as much of the precious water that she could, desperate for the burning sensation in her throat to be soothed, the first thing on Ellie's mind, was the world before the outbreak. Where peoples biggest worries were getting bills paid or their latest assignment finished. Where the teenage girls her age's biggest problems were boys or which outfit to wear to school. She couldn't help but laugh, unable to suppress the giggle that rose from within her and the irresistible smile that stretched across her face. How times had changed. Nowadays, one thing was on Ellie's mind which was incomparable to those who lived in the past. Their problems so tiny and insignificant in comparison to the tasks faced by those who had been cursed to remain on this godforsaken planet battling for every last breath that they take.

Survival was the only thing that mattered now. Ellie had not known anything other than to endure and survive. Living in a world where the living fears the dead and those alive are made to suffer. Thirteen long and tiring years of running, fighting and surviving, yet this was only the beginning. The quarantine zones had fallen to the power of the outbreak, safe houses were over-run by rebels, and day in and day out, it was every man battling for himself. Fear the dead, they say. Nowadays, it was fear the living. Endure and survive.

Endure and survive.


End file.
